The morning sun poured over Loguetown's narrow streets, banishing the shadows from the night before.
The salty breeze carried the scent of grilled squid, freshly baked bread, and the tang of seaweed from the nearby docks.
Guts walked at an unhurried pace, one hand in his coat pocket. The other held a warm paper bag that smelled suspiciously like apple pie. Beside him, Robin cradled a small plush sea king, her eyes darting between stalls overflowing with bright fabrics, trinkets, and sweets.
The commotion behind them, however, could hardly go unnoticed.
"Oi! Don't drop that, you idiots!" Buggy barked, marching behind a line of his crewmates who looked like underpaid delivery boys.
Cabaji wobbled on his unicycle, balancing three stacked crates on one shoulder. Mohji staggered under the weight of an ornate chest, while Richie padded beside him, a bag in his mouth — clearly containing something edible, judging by the drool.
"Lord Buggy," one crewman whimpered, clutching a fragile porcelain vase, "my arms are going numb—"
"GOOD. Maybe the pain will remind you not to smash my investments!" Buggy snapped, face redder than his nose.
Robin giggled quietly, hugging her plush tighter.
"You're enjoying this," Guts said, not looking at her.
"A little," she admitted.
From the rooftop across the market square, a trail of smoke curled into the air. Smoker leaned against the chimney with crossed arms, his eyes tracking their every move.
He'd been there since dawn, watching. Even with Miranda's so-called 'permission', he didn't buy it — not for a second.
Down below, the crowd bustled with life. Merchants haggled, children chased each other between the stalls.
Somewhere in that chaos, the hunter followed his prey.
Unbeknownst to Smoker, Guts's observation Haki had already noticed him.
The marketplace stretched like a tapestry of colors and noise. Robin's small fingers clung to Guts's sleeve as they wove between stalls, the morning sunlight catching on her dark hair. She tugged him toward a booth stacked with parchment and quills.
"This one," she said softly, holding up a smooth roll of parchment. "For the map."
Guts examined it, nodded, and paid the vendor without bargaining. Robin smiled faintly — the kind of smile that looked like she was already imagining coastlines and compass roses inked onto the fresh sheet.
From three stalls over, Buggy's voice rang like a badly tuned trumpet.
"Oi, Boss! You're loaded, right? How about funding science? My brilliant experiment needs premium-grade gunpowder and a few… unregulated metals."
Guts didn't look at him. "What experiment? Aren't you just mixing gunpowder? And you almost blew up Jumoi."
"That was progress, you ignorant lump of muscle!" Buggy shot back, sidling up with a greasy grin. "Come on, I assure you your investment won't go to waste."
They moved on, Robin now pulling Guts toward a tailor's shop. The tailor fussed over her, holding up soft fabrics in deep blues and sea greens. By the time they left, Robin wore a light summer dress beneath her usual outerwear — a rare indulgence in color.
"For you," she said, handing Guts a heavy wool coat from the same shop.
Guts raised an eyebrow. "You're buying me clothes now?"
"You're buying me clothes," Robin countered, a tiny hint of mischief in her voice.
The sun climbed higher as they passed through quieter streets. The smells of fish and fried dumplings gave way to cool stone and the faint tang of oil. Buggy's crew lagged behind, still burdened with crates and sacks, muttering curses about their captain's "visionary purchases."
It was Robin who noticed the place first — a narrow, shaded storefront with a faded sign hanging crooked above the door. The windows were clouded with dust, and the door was slightly ajar. Inside, the faint glint of steel caught the light.
"A sword shop," Robin murmured.
Guts glanced at the dim interior.
Buggy peered over his shoulder. "Swords? Don't you already have that lump of metal on your back you call a sword?"
Guts stepped inside anyway.
The air inside was cool and heavy, the dim light falling in sparkling shafts through the cloudy windows. A faint metallic tang hung in the room — the smell of steel that had seen years, perhaps decades, of careful maintenance.
From behind the counter, a tall, lanky man in a faded brown yukata looked up. His hair was slicked back, but a few rebellious strands stuck out. His narrow eyes widened at the sight of the party… or more specifically, at the enormous slab of black iron strapped across Guts's back.
"Well, well," the man said, voice oily but polite. "Welcome to Ipponmatsu's finest blades. We cater to sailors, bounty hunters, and… distinguished gentlemen of means." His gaze flicked to the long trail of Buggy's crewmates hauling crates and sacks through the doorway. "And it seems you're… very distinguished."
Buggy puffed his chest. "Damn right! And as his trusted financial advisor—"
"You're not," Guts cut in.
"—I can confirm he's in the market for only the best." Buggy ignored him, leaning on the counter. "So, old man, what's your priciest piece?"
Ipponmatsu's lips curled in the kind of smile only a salesman could perfect. "Ah… I have many fine swords. Masterpieces, each with a story worth telling." He gestured toward a rack of gleaming katana, their lacquered scabbards catching the weak light.
Robin drifted toward a display case, examining a slim blade with an etched tsuba. Her fingers didn't touch — just hovered, studying the balance and shape with quiet interest.
Meanwhile, Ipponmatsu stepped out from behind the counter, moving with the slow confidence of someone who knew exactly where the customer's eyes should go… except his own eyes kept drifting back to the massive hilt jutting over Guts's shoulder.
"Remarkable piece you have there," he said, tone casual but his hands twitching like he wanted to measure it. "Custom work? Must weigh a ton. You ever considered… something a bit more civilized? Easier to carry?"
Guts's answer was a flat, "No."
"Come now," Ipponmatsu persisted, pulling a katana from its mount and offering it hilt-first. "Light as a feather, sharp enough to split a falling leaf… perfect for—"
"—a guy who can't lift my sword," Guts said, brushing past him.
Buggy snorted, then immediately whispered, "You should trade it in. That thing looks exhausting."
From behind, Mohji muttered, "How about you trade your nose for a peanut, Buggy?"
Buggy immediately snapped back, fuming. "What's my nose got to do with anything, you bastard!? And it's Lord Buggy to you!?"
Hearing that, Guts smiled faintly. "He gets it," he said, admitting Mohji had a point. Then he looked at Ipponmatsu and added, "You wouldn't trade part of yourself for anything, right?"
The shopkeeper's merchant's smile faltered for just a moment, then returned stronger. He clearly wasn't giving up on prying that massive weapon from Guts's hands.
Robin wandered away from Guts's side, her dark eyes scanning the dim racks of steel. She didn't need to touch the blades — her whisperer's gift reached out, brushing against their quiet hum. The swords loved this place… loved him.
She felt the way Ipponmatsu cared for them, not as merchandise, but as treasured companions. Each one, whether worth a king's ransom or barely a day's meal, was cleaned with the same patience, the same reverence. Even the ones dulled with age gleamed under his care.
In that moment, Robin remembered something — the lonely green katana Gargar had found drifting under the sea near Whiskey Peak. A blade without a hand to wield it, wandering the currents for who knew how long.
She turned to Guts. "Father… what about the green sword?"
Guts stood silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling in. Then he reached into his waist bag, pulling out a small brass key. He tossed it to Buggy without ceremony.
"Storage cabin. Bring the green sword. And…" He paused, eyeing Buggy's greedy expression. "Pick yourself a few million berries while you're at it. Buy your toys."
Buggy's jaw dropped, then split into the widest grin imaginable. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" He whirled on his crew. "You heard the boss! We're going back to Jumoi!"
With much grunting and shuffling, the burdened crewmates followed their captain out, crates and sacks still in tow, leaving the shop quieter — and somehow heavier with expectation.
They passed the time in small talk — Robin quietly asking about different blades, Guts giving curt, almost dismissive answers, and Ipponmatsu trying every merchant trick in the book to steer the conversation toward a sale.
The peace shattered with a clattering noise from the street.
Buggy burst in so fast his legs seemed to arrive a half-step before the rest of him, nearly colliding with the doorframe. With a theatrical bow, he presented the green sword in both hands like a priceless treasure to a noble.
"For you, my most esteemed benefactor!" he declared with mock elegance — before snatching his hand back, pockets already bulging with berries. "Well, my work here is done!"
He bolted out the door, cackling like a lunatic, leaving behind a faint smell of cheap cologne and greed.
Guts ignored the performance entirely, turning to Ipponmatsu and holding the green blade out hilt-first.
"You know this sword?"
For a heartbeat, the shopkeeper simply stared. Then the color drained from his face. His knees gave way and he dropped to the floor with a hard thump.
His mouth worked soundlessly before he managed a whisper:
"B-Bakemono… one of the Twenty-One…" His hands trembled as if the very air around the blade carried weight. "The lost sword… they say it's almost equal to one of the Twelve Supreme Grade swords…"
The air in the shop felt heavier, even Robin sensing the shift. Somewhere outside, the market noise carried on — oblivious to the fact that in this quiet little shop, history had just walked through the door.
Ipponmatsu stood back up, his hands reaching toward the sword, then stopped midair as if an invisible force held him back. He swallowed hard, beads of sweat trailing down his temples. The sword seemed to hum, a faint vibration that resonated in his bones, both beckoning and warning him.
"I… I shouldn't even…" His voice faltered, eyes locked on the green blade as if it might lunge at him. "They say Bakemono chooses its wielder. Those unworthy… it rejects."
Robin tilted her head. "Rejects?"
The shopkeeper's gaze flicked to her, then back to the sword. "Men who held it against its will — they say their strikes turned against them, their own blades cutting them down. It's… not a weapon you own. It's one you survive."
Guts rested the heavy weapon across his palm like it weighed nothing. "It's just steel."
Ipponmatsu's eyes darted to the massive slab of metal on Guts's back. "No… that's just steel. This… this is a living thing."
Guts's brows furrowed. "Just steel?" he grunted, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief. He knew what Dragonslayer had become.
Ipponmatsu couldn't possibly grasp it. But he just brushed it off as the ramblings of a sentimental sword shop owner.
Robin watched closely, catching not just the man's fear, but something else — reverence. Every blade in the room felt alive to her whisperer's sense, but the green sword… its "voice" sounded very sad, longing for an owner.
Robin tilted her head, her gaze fixed on the green blade. "It's very sad," she said softly to Ipponmatsu. "It wants an owner."
The shopkeeper blinked at her, clearly wondering what the little brat was talking about. Still, his eyes kept darting to the sword in Guts's hands, until finally he stepped forward, almost trembling.
"Please," he said, voice tight with both awe and desperation, "just for a moment… let me hold it. A once-in-a-lifetime request."
Guts studied him for a beat, then simply nodded and handed the sword over.
The moment the green katana touched his palms, Ipponmatsu's breath caught. His knees bent as though the weight wasn't just physical but spiritual, pressing down on him.
His fingers traced the hilt like one might brush the cheek of a long-lost friend. "Bakemono…" he whispered, his voice shaking. "One of the Twenty-One… thought to be lost forever. Almost the equal of the Twelve Supreme Grade Blades."
Robin could feel the shift — the sword's voice no longer sad, but curious… almost hopeful.
Ipponmatsu looked up at Guts, eyes wide and almost pleading. "Where… where did you find this?"
Robin's chin lifted slightly, pride glowing in her eyes. "My friend found it under the sea."
Ipponmatsu blinked, trying to keep his tone gentle — or at least as gentle as a man holding history in his hands could manage. "A treasure like Bakemono… is not something one simply finds."
Robin's lips curved faintly. "My friend is not 'someone'… but a sea king."
The shopkeeper's brows drew together, confusion knitting deeper. "A… sea king…?" he repeated under his breath, as if the words didn't make sense in his mouth.
Before he could question further, Robin tilted her head, her voice soft but cutting straight through him. "Can you find it an owner?"
That question seemed to shake him harder than the sword's weight. His fingers tightened around the hilt, knuckles paling, as though the idea of passing it to anyone else was both unthinkable.
Ipponmatsu's mouth opened, then closed again. He glanced toward the back of the shop — the shelves bare in places, a few empty hooks where swords used to hang. He didn't even have enough berries to maintain his shop.
Even holding Bakemono, the weight of reality pressed on him. A treasure like this could change his life… but the truth was, he couldn't afford to even dream of owning it. A treasure even berries can't buy.
Robin watched him quietly, the way her eyes always seemed to know more than she said. Guts, leaning against the counter, read the hesitation plain as day.
"You're too poor to keep it," Guts said flatly.
The shopkeeper flinched. He wanted to deny it — to claim pride, knowledge, and devotion to the blade over coin — but his silence was answer enough. He give the sword back to Guts.
Guts sighed, pushing the sword back toward him.
"Then keep it," he said. "Until it finds the rightful owner."
Ipponmatsu froze, staring down at the green blade in his hands as though it might vanish if he blinked.
Robin nodded solemnly beside Guts. A tiny approving sound escaped her — the sort of noise that slipped out when she was quietly pleased.
The shopkeeper's throat worked, but no words came. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt, not from greed, but from the weight of responsibility settling on him. He understood exactly what kind of trust had just been placed in his hands.
The tension in Ipponmatsu's shop shattered with a clattering noise from the street.
Buggy burst in. He carried a handful of shopping bags, each one bulging with ingredients for his "genius experiment." He was laughing maniacally.
"Hehehehe! My genius will soon be revealed to the world!" he cackled, throwing his bags onto the floor.
But his laughter was cut short.
With a sudden, violent crash, someone slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling across the floor and his shopping bags scattering everywhere. His priceless, explosive gunpowder, premium metals, and other "unregulated" materials flew across the room in a disastrous explosion of noise.
"Aieee!" Buggy screamed, scrambling to his feet, his face red with fury. "What was that for, you idiot?!"
The newcomer didn't answer.
She was a teenage Marine ensign, and she stood over Buggy's scattered belongings, looking utterly unimpressed. She was a stern-looking young woman, with short, dark hair and gleaming eyeglasses that caught the dim light of the shop. She held a sword in her hand, its scabbard a pristine white.
She stepped over Buggy and his mess, her gaze fixed on the back of the shop, where Ipponmatsu stood, still holding the green blade in his trembling hands.
Robin watched her, a flicker of curiosity in her dark eyes. The ensign's energy was… different. Not malicious, but intense, driven by a deep sense of purpose.
Tashigi, hearing what Robin said about the sword needing an owner, stepped forward, her voice filled with earnestness. "Please, little girl, if this sword is searching for someone… entrust it to me. I swear, I'll find its rightful place."
Robin tilted her head, pondering. She studied Tashigi for a moment, Then, she turned to Ipponmatsu. "She can try to hold it," she said softly. "Maybe… she is the destined owner."
Hearing Robin's words, Ipponmatsu hesitated.
He looked from the green blade in his hands to Tashigi, his expression a mix of hope and reluctance. He knew the stories, the legends surrounding Bakemono. But he also saw the genuine desire in the young Marine's eyes.
Reluctantly, he extended the sword toward Tashigi with his trembling hands.
Tashigi, hearing Robin's words and feeling the weight of Ipponmatsu's gaze, gulped. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. With a shaking hand, she reached for the hilt.
The moment her fingers wrapped around the grip, a jolt of pain shot through her arm. It felt like being stung by hundreds of needles, a searing, burning sensation that made her gasp. Her grip faltered, and the sword slipped from her grasp, clattering onto the wooden floor.
Ipponmatsu's eyes widened in horror. He rushed forward, scooping up Bakemono as if it were a wounded child. His face was flushed with anger.
Tashigi stared at her hand, her fingers still tingling with pain. She looked up at Ipponmatsu, her expression a mix of shock and confusion. How could a simple shop owner hold the sword, while she, a trained swordsman, could barely touch it?
"I… I don't understand," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ipponmatsu cradled the green blade in his arms, his anger slowly giving way to a strange kind of pity. He looked at Tashigi, his eyes filled with a knowledge she couldn't comprehend.
"It's not about strength, Ensign," he said softly. "It's about… something else. Something this sword is searching for."
Tashigi, hearing those words, clenched her hands so hard that her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip, a wave of shame washing over her. She, a Marine officer who dedicated her life to swordsmanship, couldn't even hold a blade that a simple shopkeeper could wield with ease.
Without a word, she turned and stormed toward the exit. Her boots hit the wooden floor with sharp, angry thuds.
As she reached the doorway, she nearly tripped over something. Glaring down, she saw Buggy, still crawling on the floor, frantically picking up the scattered remains of his "genius experiment" materials.
Without a second thought, Tashigi stomped on Buggy's back, sending him sprawling face-first into a pile of gunpowder and unregulated metals.
"Out of my way!" she snapped, her voice tight with suppressed fury.
Buggy let out a strangled yelp, but Tashigi didn't stop. She pushed past him and burst out of the shop, leaving behind a stunned silence and a lingering scent of ozone and frustration.
The sound of Tashigi's retreating footsteps faded into the noise of the marketplace, leaving a heavy silence in the shop.
Ipponmatsu sighed, then looked at Robin, his eyes searching hers for any sign of regret. "Little one," he asked, his voice thick with emotion, "are you really leaving this sword in my hands?"
Robin just nodded happily, her dark eyes sparkling with sincerity. She could feel the sword's quiet hum, its faint sense of longing. She knew it was in the right place, at least for now.
Seeing Robin's genuine happiness, Ipponmatsu felt a lump form in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He had dedicated his life as a sword merchant, but he had never encountered an opportunity like this.
To be entrusted with such a treasure, to be given the responsibility of finding its rightful owner… it was an honor beyond words.
"Thank you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you… thank you…" He repeated the words over and over, unable to express the depth of his gratitude.
Guts, who had been silently observing the exchange, stepped forward and placed a hand on Ipponmatsu's shoulder. His touch was firm, reassuring.
"You'll do right by it," Guts said, his voice low and gruff. "I know you will."
Ipponmatsu looked up at Guts, his eyes filled with tears. He nodded, his grip tightening on the green blade.
"I won't fail you," he vowed, his voice trembling with emotion. "I promise."
Guts simply nodded again, then turned to Robin. "Let's go," he said, his voice softening as he looked at her. "We still have many places to explore."
Robin smiled, taking Guts's hand. She glanced back at Ipponmatsu one last time, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. Then, she turned and followed Guts out of the shop, leaving Ipponmatsu alone with the weight of history in his hands, and buggy.... Well... Let's forget about him.